by Jaye Ripley
Sweet Melody
Rock & Rodeo Romance Book 1
Jaye Ripley
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Newsletter
1. Mel
2. Hunter
3. Mel
4. Hunter
5. Mel
6. Hunter
7. Mel
8. Mel
9. Hunter
10. Mel
11. Mel
12. Hunter
13. Mel
14. Mel
15. Hunter
16. Hunter
17. Mel
18. Hunter
19. Mel
20. Hunter
21. Hunter
22. Mel
23. Hunter
24. Mel
25. Mel
26. Hunter
27. Mel
28. Hunter
29. Mel
30. Mel
31. Hunter
32. Mel
33. Hunter
34. Hunter
35. Hunter
36. Mel
37. Mel
38. Hunter
39. Mel
40. Mel
41. Mel
42. Hunter
43. Epilogue: Hunter & Mel
44. Songs
About the Author
Copyright © 2015 by Jaye Ripley
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
All Rights Reserved.
Created with Vellum
To my friend Brandy, who took me to the place that inspired the R&R. Your friendship and encouragement helped this book become a reality.
Newsletter
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1
Mel
The red bandana ties in the exact right place around my carefully coifed hair while I make sure that the pin-up style stays put with the hundredth layer of stiff hairspray. Most nights, my slicked back ponytail accentuates my leather maven look, guiding the patrons’ eyes down to my tight ass. With luck, they skip the one-dollar bills in lieu of tens and twenties for tips. But tonight, my rockabilly look camouflages my tougher personality suited for the rock side of the R&R. No pigtails or cowboy hats for this girl. But I would trade in my beloved worn kick ass motorcycle boots for cowboy boots just this once.
The bathroom stinks of hairspray as I beat the stray strands into submission. Coughing, I yell out to my best friend and roommate. “Hey, Bethany. Did you find those boots yet, or did the mess that is your room eat you for dinner?”
“Fuck you, roomie! If you give me too much shit,” Bethany’s high-pitched voice with her sweet, but seriously fake Southern drawl, teases as she stands in the bathroom doorway, “I’ll shove these so far up your ass that you’ll taste them for breakfast.” She waves a pair of red cowboy boots at me.
“Nice talk for such an innocent wallflower.” My fake Southern accent has nothing on my roommate’s. My tongue sticks out at her as she tosses the boots in my direction.
Bethany whips her middle finger in my direction before adding her forefinger and wiggling her tongue through the obvious V. “Aw Mel, I can show you what you can do with that tongue to thank me for the boots and for arranging it with Trey for you to abandon your usual side of the bar to join us darlin’ country girls tonight.”
I balance my hip against the sink as I pull the boots on. “No thanks. If I’m doing anything with my tongue, it will be running it over Hunter Ford’s huge cock.” The left boot keeps twisting away from my foot, causing me to almost fall with the struggle. “Besides,” I huff. “What would Jason say? I thought you two had something going. There.” I stomp my feet and check out the red boots that match the bandana in my hair.
Bethany bumps me out of the bathroom mirror to check her own pigtails, spraying some loose strands back into place. “We do from time to time. But you know I don’t limit myself. Boy, girl—doesn’t matter as long as they know how to make me come, and come, and come, and—.”
“Yeah, I get it,” I interrupt, laughing. “And most of the time, I hear it from my room.”
The sound of my ass getting slapped echoes off the tiles of the bathroom. We fake fight until our chests heave from laughing so hard.
“So, will I pass as a country girl tonight? Or will my tats give me away as the badass that I am?” Closing the door, I examine myself in the full mirror, turning all the way around.
Standing close behind me, Bethany stares at my reflection. “Well, the bandana and boots are nice touches, but I wish you would have borrowed my denim mini skirt instead wearing your leather mini.” Bethany’s hands stroke my inked bare arms. “Remember—you can’t scare money out of the country customers with icy glares. You’ll need to warm things up a bit. And you probably won’t make the same amount as a waitress. How ever will you survive on the other side instead of in your safe zone behind the bar?” She winks at our reflections.
“The same way I always survive. By shaking what God gave me. Besides, if I get to my end goal, I won’t care what tips I get as long as Hunter’s tip gets inside me.”
Bethany maneuvers her tiny body until she stands side by side with me. She’s been my roommate for the past two years and my partner in crime since childhood. We hook arms, and Bethany pulls me in for a side hug.
Hell, my eyes almost water reminiscing in awe at the changes in our images that contrast so much to the two little girls who found kindred spirits in each other over bruises and band-aids so long ago.
Both of us possess dangerous curves so much that they should come with a warning sign. But we can’t be more opposite. My eyes sweep over Bethany’s golden looks with reverence instead of jealousy. Her yellow hair glows as if she walks with her own spotlight on her at all times, and her ice blue eyes could melt anyone’s heart when she bats her long lashes at them.
In contrast, my dark hair and eyes fit in better with the biker crowd. God, I hope the change in outfit and look will be enough to get by tonight.
Bethany hands me the Ruby Red lipstick from her purse. “Fuck it. We’re hot as shit, and we’ll take all the tips tonight. And if this color doesn’t entice Hunter “You-know-I’ve-got-a-huge-snake-in-my-pants” Ford to notice you, I seriously don’t know what will.”
My long forgotten mother would have had a field day reminding me what a whore I am, especially with that lip color. And with the ideas of what I can and will do with Mr. Hunter Ford, lead singer of Tailgate Down floating in my head, hell—she might be right this time.
I smack my lips together before blotting them on a torn off piece of toilet paper. “Honey Bee, if he doesn’t notice me for my luscious lips, don’t worry. I’ve got plenty more weapons in my arsenal.” My fingers massage my nipples into hardened peaks that poke through the tight mid-riff and low-cut requisite black T-shirt with the red R&R logo emblazoned on it.
Bethany pinches my left nipple and jumps out of the way before getting smacked. “Let’s go. Trey will have both our asses if we’re late for set up.”
Grabbing my bag, I step through the front door Bethany holds open for me. I kiss her on her cheek, leaving a faded mark of my lips.
2
Hunter
Trey’s a smooth son-o
f-a-bitch. Even after I laid out the details of my band’s deal with our Nashville label, he hasn’t even blinked.
“But it should be you coming with us. I mean, if it weren’t for you giving us our first gigs and then helping to manage us as an indie band, we wouldn’t have jack shit.” My hand rakes through my damp hair after taking off my baseball hat and placing it on my knee. “Doesn’t seem right that you’re not part of the Tailgate Down package at Lyric Ridge Records. I should tell them to take their deal and shove it where the sun don’t shine.”
Trey shifts in his chair and leans forward on his desk, his arm muscles bulging. “And if you did that, I’d kick your ass ten ways to Sunday. You made your band big, not me. It was your idea to start a YouTube channel and make videos. Your idea to start writing songs and selling them that showed off your talent and made you more marketable. I just got a few doors opened for you in the beginning.” He shrugs and leans back in his chair. “Besides, I’ve got plans for this place.”
“What, being the number one club in the area isn’t enough for you?” The smirk on my face hides my immense relief that Trey doesn’t hold the band’s next steps against me.
He shrugs. “That was yesterday’s news. We’ll always be at the top because I hire the best. Plus, I treat them like family and keep them happy for the most part. But there’s room to grow and change, and that’s what we’ve got to do, in order to stay at the top.”
Those who don’t know my friend might think he’s cold because he gives nothing away. I pity the fuckers who play poker with him. He’d take every last cent in their pockets. The man is unbreakable. Only those who get close enough to him know he’s passionate as hell underneath that tough exterior.
“Well, you let me know how Tailgate Down can help you out whenever you get things rolling. I owe you, man.” There’s a hitch in my voice, and I don’t give a shit.
Trey stands up and extends his hand. Adjusting my hat back on my head, I stand and shake back. His grip increases in pressure—our old game of chicken. One I’ve never won. But before I try to let go because he squeezes too hard, Trey breaks the handshake first.
“Wouldn’t want to injure you before tonight. Your screaming fans might kill me if you couldn’t play.”
My hand throbs a bit as I stretch it out and let the blood flow back into it. “Even if I couldn’t play my guitars, I bet I could make every last one of them cry out for me.” Playing the cocky lead singer in a video is one thing. It’s a whole different game doing it in person, and I know my friend doesn’t buy it.
Trey claps me on the back as we exit his office into the massive kitchen space. There’s already a flurry of activity getting prepped for tonight since it’ll be a packed house. The two of us go over the basics of tonight from my band’s set up to my requests about the VIP section.
“It’s gonna be jam packed with all of our family. So I want it to be as homey as possible, not like they’re hanging out at some club.”
Trey slows the pace of his walk in the middle of the hallway leading out to the club floor. “Man, do you even need to point that shit out to me as if this isn’t my place and I don’t know how to take care of you?”
I slap him on the shoulder. “Just taking care of what’s mine. Didn’t know you’d get so touchy. Here, you wanna hug it out?” I open my arms wide and take a step toward him. As if I’d ever initiate a hug with this quiet giant of a man, but I do love fucking with him.
He holds me off with his strong arm, and we continue toward the club floor. The noise of some commotion floats in the air, and we pick up our pace a bit. Standing in a spot right inside the large room, I can see who the two arguing voices belong to.
“You gonna step in and stop things?” I ask Trey.
He shakes his head. “Better to see how it plays out. Plus, out here, this is Sean’s territory. He’s more than capable of handling things. I only get involved as a last resort.” Trey leans against an extra table pushed against the wall so he can watch but not be conspicuous.
Fighting girls might be some guys’ idea of sexy, but mostly they perplex me. Why can’t women just get along? Instead, they fight over how they look, what they think the other one said, who they date. God, especially who they date.
The two that argue now are marking their territory. Seems that one of them doesn’t want the hot girl in the red bandana to be working here.
I sure as hell do. Where the hell did that thought come from? The one in the tight, short leather skirt seems to be the outsider, but she can definitely hold her own. And she must be worth something because her blonde friend buzzes around her, having her back.
“Is this typical drama here?” I ask Trey, needing the distraction from the hot thoughts creeping up. Tonight’s too big of a deal for me to get sidetracked by a woman. My policy for success? Never let a girl come between the band and me.
Trey shakes his head. “No. But then again, nerves were gonna run high tonight anyway. They all know how important it is for you guys. They’ll get their shit together once we open.”
The voice of the leather mini skirt catches my attention. My eyes whip over to where she stands next to one of the couches in the VIP area. She’s got her blonde friend—Bethany, if I remember correctly—bent over the backside of it with her friend’s braids in her hand. That image alone would make a dead man hard. When the unmistakable slap of her other hand spanking her friend’s ass echoes in the air, my own cock salutes her inside my jeans.
“Who’s she?” My voice comes out in more of a whisper.
“Trouble,” responds Trey.
The tone of his voice should concern me, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the unusual girl. Unlike all the other pretty but cookie cutter, down-home, country-looking girls, she stands out with her entire look. Like she wants to fit in, but can’t. No way in hell can she pull off the sweet girl vibe—and she shouldn’t. For the first time in a long time, my head wonders if she’s not sweet, then how bad is she really? And just how bad can we be together?
The notes of a rock guitar break the tension in the room. I’m more than familiar with the Pink song from the band’s days of doing covers and playing local parties. Our version has a bit more of a country flare to it, and we lower the key for me to sing lead. Even though the track sounds like it’s the original, something different catches my ear.
My eyes scan the floor, looking for the invisible X-factor I’m hearing. That’s when she turns in my direction. Leather mini skirt’s belting out the words in a voice that’s like the original singer’s. Probably why I couldn’t catch the difference at first. But when the chorus hits and she struts herself around the floor while still managing to help set up the room, she embodies everything about the song. This girl’s no karaoke queen. She’s a singer in her own right. And her voice resonates through every part of me.
“You’re right.” I turn in Trey’s direction but keep my eye on the girl. “She definitely lives up to your words and that song. So who is she?”
His strong hand jerks me out of whatever hazy spell the girl’s singing puts me under. Trey pushes me back into the darkened hallway and out of sight of the club floor.
“What does it matter to you?” His voice drips with more emotion than I’ve ever heard from him.
“Whoa.” My hands float in the air in a sign of surrender. “What the hell, man? I’m just asking who she is?”
Trey takes his hands off me and runs his fingers through his hair. He sighs. “She’s not someone you can fuck and chuck, all right?” He frowns at his words, opens his mouth as if to add something. But then stays silent.
His response puzzles me. “Seriously, what the hell? All I asked was her name.”
“Her name’s Melody. Call her that, I dare you. She’ll cut off your balls.”
The gleam in his eyes says that he kind of hopes that might happen. Curious. “So what can I call her that will keep my nuts intact?”
Trey crosses his arms. “Mel. Actually, Mel Barnett.”
&n
bsp; I repeat the name, testing how it feels on my tongue. Wondering what other parts of her might feel or taste like on it as well. “Okay. Got it. Now you gonna tell me what your problem is?”
His head turns toward the direction of the club floor. The song’s over. A strained hush falls between us. The muscles in his neck twitch as he clenches his jaw.
Trey blows out a breath and puts his hands in his pockets. “Mel and I. Well… she and I… we used to… dammit.” He mutters the curse under his breath.
Shit. They used to go out. The bro code’s gonna cock block me. It’s what’s kept our band together for so long. No woman comes between us. For the first time ever, I’m actually debating whether or not the code is bullshit, because it stands in the way of something I think I want. No, I know I want a taste. I swear, my dick just said, Screw the code, and screw her!
But my friend deserves my loyalty. Hell, he deserves more than that. “No worries. She’s off limits.” I tell my dick that he’s shit out of luck.
Trey shakes his head. “That’s not what I was saying. Shit, we were together years ago, when she first came back for Bethany.” He smiles at whatever memory he’s dredged up.
“Why’d she come back?” If I’m not going to pursue the girl, I have no business asking the question. Sue me for wanting to know as much as I can about her.
“That’s her business to tell, not mine. In the long run, we didn’t work out. Wrong needs, wrong timing, I guess.” Trey shrugs. “But she doesn’t need me trying to protect her.”
“No, she doesn’t.” My words come out quicker than my mind can register.
Trey’s eyes snap toward me. “But I’m gonna look out for her all the same. I have no right to tell you that you can’t have her. That’s for her to decide. Take your chances or don’t. She’ll let you know one way or another.”
